I Heard It Through the Grapevine(of Delicious Mirkwood Wine…)
by Lasgalendil
Summary: On women, tropes, and the thrice-dreaded supernatural interspecies love triangle. Rumors of a certain movie and fanfics have reached Middle Earth and characters are not amused. Can Tauriel convince the canon that their reasons for hating her are wrong? Legolas laments, Tauriel teaches, and Gimli…Gimli is just Gimli. (Elessar's General Warning: meta fics may contain strong satire.)
1. A Word on Women

As both an Elf and a Prince of some high importance, I can tell you as a fact that it was not every morning I spilt wine all over the _Esgaroth Herald_. Certainly the rag was trash, but today's notices were worse than usual. This morning's fateful headlines proclaimed:

**Captain Tauriel and Dwarf Prisoner—love at last?**

**Prince Legolas gets left for hot dwarf, heir to treasure under the Mountain!**

**So long, Leggy! There's a new archer in town!**

Reluctantly, I read on.

_A source close to the couple reports that the Captain of the Guard has her gorgeous blue eyes set on a new beau, Kili, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield himself! The hot dwarven hunk, recently returned from exile over the Misty Mountains, has been seeing the svelte Elf Captain nearly every day! Is it too early to start ringing wedding bells over Erebor?_

And,

_Trouble in paradise? Our sources say that the Prince's long denied relationship with his half-sized lover, the ruggedly handsome Gimli son of Gloin, were what finally drove the gorgeous couple apart._

Complete with a lengthy tutorial on how to attract your 'very own' devilish dwarven lover. My father was going to kill me.

"What is this?" I groaned aloud, still choking on aspirated wine and mopping up the impromptu mess. "This is a high fantasy literature adaptation, not effing Twilight!"

"You've seen it, then," Tauriel sidled up, reading the headlines over my shoulder. "And as for a pop culture romantic triangle reference, I'd've gone with the Hunger Games," she chides. "At least _Katniss _has a useful life skill."

"Legolas-Tauriel-Kili love triangle?" I turned to her in disbelief. "What is this nonsense? And where do they get it?"

"A 'reliable yet anonymous source', apparently," she read, one eyebrow arched and frowning. "I'm guessing it was the dwarves' hobbit…" her face twisted into a mischievous grin. "You should hear what they're saying about him and _Smaug_."

Oh, I'd heard that alright. But after twelve years of such rumors circulating about myself and Gimli, I had every intention to ignore them. "I'm not even certain that Kili is a dwarf," I commented instead. "He looks more like a man/hobbit cross to me. No beard! And that nose—"

"It's called _fanservice,_ Legolas," she rolled her eyes. "Some producer figured no one would watch a movie about a bunch of old bearded dwarves unless some of them looked 'hot'."

"Don't get me started on fanservice," I shook my head. "Have you _seen_ my butt-pose in the last _Desolation of Smaug_ poster?"

"Not to mention every dress Arwen wears," she agreed, nibbling the corner of a lembas square. "I mean nothing says 'I'm a timeless classy Elf-Princess' like some exposed cleavage."

You can always count on Tauriel to hit the mark, archery or otherwise. "Or that side-shot in _The Two Towers_," I added.

"The 'I'm bra-less, let me show you my nipples' shot?" she mimed.

"That's the one," I said through a mouthful of lembas. "And don't strike that pose ever again—the last thing we need right now is some stupid paparazzi photo together."

"Oh, don't worry, there's already plenty of those," she drawled, flipping through the paper with an expression of malicious glee. "Have you seen the goo-goo eyes you've supposedly been sending my way?"

"That's supposed to be a reaction shot?!" I cried. "That was me at the Cúthalion Archery Convention in early Second Age! You weren't even born yet!"

"I know, right?" she teased. "This photoshop makes you more of a pedophile than Jacob in _Breaking Dawn_."

"This is worse than the Galadriel-Gandalf hair caress of last year!" I cried out in desperation. "It's a fandom-wide crisis!"

"Don't be a baby, mellon," she sat, pouring a glass of wine in turn. "It's the _Esgaroth Herald._ No one seriously believes that stuff."

"Tauriel, you misunderstand," I pushed the remaining lembas to her, no longer hungry. I couldn't really expect her to fully grasp the situation. After all, she hadn't gone through the press before with the Lord of the Rings supposed movie 'trilogy' release. "The reputation of our entire fandom has just been permanently altered in the public's eye!"

She sipped her wine carelessly. "You needn't worry. The real fans will know better."

"But there's so few of them—"

"Oh, nonsense, Legolas!" she slammed her goblet down, making the lembas crumbs jump. "There's still _the Lord of the Rings Project_, there's _Amanye Tenceli_, there's _Ardalambion_…and that tengwar calligrapher, Daniel what's-his-name, in Wellington! There's a whole slew of hardcore fans out there who know the difference! What, you think they all just 'grew wings and flew away' because some movie suddenly appears?"

"Ugh," I sighed. She was right—I had overreacted. "I do apologize. I'm just imagining all the Bard the Bowman, Legolas, and Kili fanfiction that's about to get written. Not to mention all the stories about you and I from misguided fangirls under the ridiculous impression that we're canon!"

"Well, if they believe the rubbish they read in the _Esgaroth Herald_, they deserve to be publically ridiculed. And executed," she scowled, crumbling the newspaper up and tossing it behind her. "Obviously the _Herald _hasn't done any research. Everyone knows that Elves marry as a rule by one hundred, or not at all. With some very rare exceptions."

"Yeah," I agreed. "For women who fancy mortals, apparently—"

"Luthien, Idril, Arwen, Finduilas…" she enumerated.

"And that last one didn't end so well," I reminded her.

"Impaled. By _Yrch_," she shuddered. "Then Turin married his sister. And Doriath fell, Thingol and Turgon were both slain. Not to mention both Nargothrond and Gondolin were overcome by Morgoth and the majority of their people slain. You'd think we Elf women would've learned our lesson by now: mortal males are trouble."

I smiled ruefully. "Well, at least your supposed lover's already lost his homeland, so they can't fault that to you."

"But it's the _woman's _people who always have to suffer. Talk about slut shaming," she seethed. "And you know they're already making all those ridiculously nuanced Arwen parallels—"

"All that white light?" I asked as she blanched her affirmation and disgust. "What is that nonsense, anyways? Obviously Glorfindel would have an aura—being sent back from Mandos to return to Middle Earth. And in the movie Arwen was at least of Noldorin kin. But you're Avari, for Eru's sake!"

"I know, right? My people have never even _seen_ Valinor, let alone the light of the two trees. What, every woman in Middle Earth is a suddenly a virginal healer?" she snapped, stabbing the knife holding her lembas down into the grain of the table. "How trite."

"I mean, I'm a modern Elf, I'm all for a female presence…" I offered timidly. "But if women in our culture were all trained doctors and warriors you'd think that in the whole Legendarium it would've at least been mentioned once."

"So it would seem," she scoffed. "Galadriel is powerful, Idril is wise, Luthien had determination and self-efficacy, and Elwing refused to relinquish the Silmaril even though it cost her her people and family. Even Aradhel sacrificed herself for her son…they fought evil when they had to with everything they had, but it's not like they went out looking for it on the battlefield!"

"Sure, give a girl a sword. Or bow—it's always a bow, isn't it?" I asked drily. "And let her kick some ass. But why does she also have to be pretty, smart, graceful and _the only one_? I wouldn't mind it if they'd made it seem the norm, but this is practically a live action Disney film where men can be all shapes and sizes while the girls are stereotyped—and they didn't even have the decency to make you Mulan!"

"I would've settled for Mulan," she lamented.

"You're an independent, self-actualized woman," I responded. "You shouldn't have to settle for anything."

"I wish," she sighed.

"You deserve better, Tauriel," I insisted. "You're the Captain of my father's guard and my best friend. I mean, for all their hype about making the movie more approachable for girls with a stronger female presence, I don't even think this movie passes the Bechdel test!"

She shut her eyes. Shook her head. We sat in silence for a while. I'd been through all of this before, and I'd always appreciated a silent affirmation rather than clumsy words.

"How could they do this to me?" she finally said, struggling to fit words to the emotions she felt. "To us? To every single woman and girl who sees the movie, not to mention has to interact with men who've seen it even if they haven't?"

"You mean you're not just decorative objects to be admired, or personified plot points?" I prompted her lightly.

"It's pathetic! The fandom is divided, and all the—the absolutely _hurtful_ things they're saying!" she slammed her palm down on the table, somehow not bursting into tears. "I know I'm not canonical, but half the fandom won't even give me a chance, they hate me on instinct rather than for the sloppy, shallow writing I've been given!"

"You really ought to talk with Arwen," I offered. "She went through the same thing after _The Lord of the Rings_ movies."

"And the rest? The rest just accept me as I am—a sex object! And they have the gall to call that empowerment!"

"Well, you and I can always go shoot Miley Cyrus later, if it makes you feel better."

"Legolas, don't joke. You're absolutely atrocious at it," she reminded me, smiling despite her frustration. "Remember that line about the sun?"

"_I_ still think it was funny," I stated.

"And everyone who ever reads it thinks you've gone swanning off because you're insane," she said.

"So I'm glib in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Sue me."

"'That still only counts as one!'" she countered laconically.

"No, Gimli's just an _axe_," I enunciated with just enough doubt to make her smile.

"I just…I just wish the fans would give me a chance, you know?" she finally sighed. "The real me, not some trope. They don't like me because I'm not canon, they don't like me because I'm 'strong'…I mean, not having female action heroes in a fictional realm under the auspices of 'realism' or 'historical accuracy' is a bit bullshit to begin with, but our entire world was first created in a time when women were denied their rights to vote, to defend their families, homes, and countries—and yet still the most decorated human female soldier of all time was a veteran of the First World War!"

"Really?" I asked, "the same war our Professor fought in?"

"Milunka Sávic," she said. "And she was almost forced into the nursing ambulance corp when her gender was discovered by her superiors!"

"That's ridiculous—"

"But that's _history_," she reminded me. "Non-revisionist, accurate history. There were female fighters throughout history, there have always been, but even a soldier as determined and decorated as Milunka faced prejudice despite being adept in her duties. She had to struggle to regain her commander's respect."

"Well, so much for that fan argument," I said. "But you have to admit, our canon is a bit sexist—"

"Almost all canons are inherently sexist," she countered. "They're created by men, for men, internalizing contemporary gender biases, and if women just happen to enjoy them too, then that's an added bonus. Just look at the headlines—Wonder Woman is the most popular DC heroine and she still can't get her own movie, she's got to appear beside both Batman and Superman. For as much as the public says they want strong female characters, and as much as the screenwriters seem to want to write them, why is it that a woman can't be trusted to hold a film on her own? Why can't the women in the Marvel's phase I storylines ever meet in the movies, or even talk to each other?"

"Huh," I mulled my thoughts over. "And to think I enjoyed them." After all, the reference to my skills in _The Avengers_ was rather flattering…

"I don't mind that our canon is inherently sexist," Tauriel continued. "Women fighers weren't the rule at the time Tolkien invented Ëa, we were the exception. Eowyn is a reflection in that she exists as at all"

She sighed. Slumped back into the chair in defeat. "I don't even mind the pressure of being a noncanonical female action hero, Legolas, the exception to the rule of femininity in our fandom rather than the rule itself. Someone has to do it, and I'm proud to stand as an example for girls everywhere…but Eru knows I need more backstory than 'good looking and in love with an unobtainable prince'!"

"You've forgotten impossibly handsome and debonair," I grinned.

"You can't uphold the 'historically accurate' criticism without criticizing the way it's applied across the fandom," she continued, ignoring me with no great ease. "Sure, show the rare woman succeeding as a soldier in a military that has a male majority, but for Eru's sake do it right. I mean, Brienne of Tarth is a fictional female knight but at least she faces ridicule and prejudice for being so! Magically inserting women into warrior roles without ever addressing the myriad of social problems they might have faced is also a historical inaccuracy, not to mention a complete whitewashing of human history. I mean, there have been women warriors and politicians for thousands of years, but for the most part they've had to face oppression and overcome it!" she raced passionately.

"In a land with a young female minority captain of the guard surrounded by other female minority soldiers, you'd think they'd at least let us mention how or why we're so driven to be self-sufficient in defending our homeland, and the unique prejudices and experiences we face as women and minorities. But nope—that gets completely ignored. Everyone wants to _see _a hot ass-kicking woman on screen, but _no one wants to hear her story_. Sure, Selina Kyle kicked some ass in _The Dark Knight Returns_, but Batman not only had two previous movies of backstory he got an entire new reboot and rebirth twice in that same movie! While Selina's backstory is told only through expository dialogue! And even Talia—the true villain—was given the same treatment!" she exclaimed in disgust.

"I know, I know," I sympathized. "At least I have a father to disagree with and a country to help run. You've got…what, a job?"

"I don't even have a job—I mean, sure, I'm the Captain of the Guard, but it's not like I get any exposition as to why I pursued the position!" she said in exasperation. "I'm 600 years old, a young elf woman in world-torn Arda, a rarity, really…and yet my parents aren't mentioned? I mean, I could be fighting orcs like Elladan and Elrohir because my mother was attacked, I could not be in a relationship for the same reason that most Elves in Arda don't because I think it's too dangerous and damaging for children and I want to make Eryn Lasgalen safer first…I could be secretly leading my Silvan people in a resistance movement against the oppressive Sindar by enrolling them in training as soldiers right under the royalty's noses!" she gestured grandly.

"_Oppressive_ Sindar?" But she simply ignored me.

"But nope. I'm just the female Captain of the Mirkwood Guard. Nothing interesting to see here. Move along," she moped, placing her elbows on the tabletop and her chin between her hands.

We were silent a minute. She, stewing over her treatment, and I trying to come to terms with the fact that my best friend just told me I was racist. I meant to say something in my defense, but oh, Valar. I just realized something—

"You're a Mary Sue," I chortled.

She blinked, affronted. "Don't say that!"

"But it's true, you're totally a Mary Sue."

"Legolas!"

"Not _you,_ Tauriel," I reminded her, sorry to have offended. Especially given her comment about my people. "The movie's depiction of you."

"I know, I know," she groaned. "I'm gorgeous, kickass, can topple an orc three times my size despite being more petite than River Tamm, somehow manage not to trip over my suspiciously immaculate hair or dress while fighting, have an impossible love triangle with two gorgeous supernatural men, and my only character "flaws" are too much compassion and my need to "always do what I think is right". And I still somehow convince the King and you and all the army that helping the Dwarves is the right thing to do despite having run out on you?" she tutted. "I'm a Mary Sue for sure!"

"I'm sorry—" I began.

"Don't be," she waved me off. "It's not your fault. If the goal had truly been a stronger female presence, the writers would have made more roles for women in this film so one character wouldn't be forced to take them all. Instead, I get stuck with every trope in the book!"

I couldn't help but grin. "They weren't really in the book, though—"

"You know what I meant," she said harshly. "I'm the 'fiery red-head', the 'action heroine', the 'feminine compassion and kindness', the 'naïve yet-politically-savvy idealist', the 'romantic interest', the 'forbidden interspecies love' , the 'can't marry outside her station', the 'love triangle', the 'virgin clothed in white', the 'maternal healer'—"

"Don't forget the Elf in the refrigerator."

"No," she stood aghast. " You don't think—"

"Kili dies. Fact of the matter is the line of Thror was broken at the Battle of the Five Armies. Dain Ironfoot takes the throne. And then I go off and join the Fellowship—"

"And I'm an expendable OC…" she groaned, banging her forehead against the table.

"They kill you off."

"So my entire two movie role turns out to be just emotional fodder for you?" she moaned.

I pulled a grimace. "Pretty much. Sorry."

"This is the worst gig in the world!" she screamed. "How can any girl stand this? How can they think I'm a role model, or a strong female character when all I am is a smattering of tropes rolled together for fanservice and your emotional needs?"

"It could be worse," I told her. "You could accidentally become an avid spokeself for gay rights via a deluge of pornographic fan fictions starring one or both of your best male friends."

"…oh, wait. That's about to happen, isn't it?" Tauriel sneered. "We get to have a three way."

"With a dwarf," I wrinkled my nose. I suspected our fandom was about to revert to 2002 standards of literacy.

"Well, I'm sure _you're_ used to it by now…"

"You will retract that comment, peasant, or I will be forced to feed you to the spiders," I leveled with as much faux-gravitas as I could muster. I am my father's son, after all.

But before she could reply with a witty retort of her own, we were interrupted by an unwelcome presence, and an equally unwelcome smell.

"Heh, heh, good morning, you worthless Elvish Princeling!" Gimli taunted, stumping in dressed only in his white woolen underthings. "As for you, my lady, see these arms? This broad back? Thick neck? The body hair and the voluptuous beard of Durin himself? This is how a handsome dwarf truly appears! Think of the beautiful ginger hybrid children we might make!"

He snatched a plate of sausages from the table and a tankard of ale, then went about stuffing himself as if the Three Hunters might run again this very day.

"Gimli, for the love of Eru would you—" I sent an apologetic look to Tauriel.

"No, no, it's fine. If I have to be sexually harassed by a half-naked dwarf, I'd rather it be one considered attractive by their contemporary racial standards."

"Anachronisms," I said in reproach.

"You're one to talk. Last movie you were boyishly handsome and had eleven year old fangirls with cut outs of you in their bedrooms. What happened?"

"Now I have a fat neck and face, not to mention eyeliner," I shook my head. "Don't get me started. Apparently after losing you I developed an eating disorder and stopped being so emo."

"Emo? Well, you were certainly depicted as irresponsible and immature," she chuckled. "'Oh, Tauriel's gone and broken the rules, I guess I have to follow my heart despite my king's orders to go convince her to come back'!"

"Don't get me started," I groaned. "I'm the prince of Mirkwood! You'd think when the Captain of the Army disappears I'd realize that my father, my realm andmy people need me more than ever! Nope—off I go to chase you!"

"And I'm the Captain of the Guard!" she cringed in turn. "You'd think if anyone understood the importance of staying put and protecting her people, it'd be someone in my position! And apparently I knew you'd come after me, which makes me doubly irresponsible for not leaving behind a replacement when I deserted my post!"

"Oh, what, warrior woman leaves behind her duties to go off to battle?" I asked. "I've never heard that one before. Really, it's like they recycled the plot points for both Arwen and Eowyn, gave you a bow and dyed your hair red and thought they could pass you off as an original character."

"Don't get me started on double standards for women," Tauriel said fiercely, grinding a cake of lembas into dust with her fists. "She went AWOL despite being handed the trust of her people, the highest honor a woman had ever achieved in her culture. She might've killed Angmar, but she ought to have been exiled, or executed for her desertion of her post. Any other soldier would have been."

"Right, Beregond at least gets a _nominative_ punishment—"

"But nope, Eowyn risks the lives of everyone in her country and gets away with no consequences whatsoever—she's even lauded as a hero! It's like Princess Leia going off to rescue Han Solo when the fate of the universe is at stake! There was no reason they couldn't've saved the universe _then_ gone back and gotten him!"

"I um…" I said with no small degree of chagrin, "I actually hadn't thought of that."

"Nope. Love conquers all," she sneered. "Even common sense. Because estrogen. And ovaries. And titties. Then everyone is so shocked by how 'brave' we are for being women, they forget we're complete assholes for deserting our causes for what are ultimately selfish, personal reasons."

"Well, at least in this movie you'll ultimately be punished for your poor decisions," I winked. "Gender equality at last!"

She shot me a deadly glare.

I only laughed. "But in all seriousness, mellon, promise me that you will never permit yourself to be represented by the terrible depiction of tropes in _The Desolation of Smaug_. And that you won't stop fighting, despite the media pressure. I dread to think how bad it will be in the coming days." Or months. After all, _There and Back Again_ was still twelve months away.

"You can be damn straight I won't," she assured me with her characteristic confidence. "And I'd like to have a word or two with the screen-writers about their outdated, double-standards that ultimately don't empower anyone."

"While you're at it, could you stop by fanfiction. net?" I asked. "Spread the word? I imagine we're about to be inundated with a billion fics about 'strong women' without an ounce of character development to be found."

"If my lord commands," she feigned a bow with wicked mock reverence.

"_My Lord_ is my father," I told her testily. "I'm just your dour and emotionally stunted best friend who has to watch you die before considering other races sentient, remember?"

She snorted her derision as she girded herself with belt and bow. "Will do. Would you like me to bring back the heads of the Mary Sues as well?"

"The Mary Sues aren't the problem, Tauriel," I reminded her. "They're merely the symptom of the underlying corruption. The true enemy are the authors and what they chose to internalize."

But before she could respond, we were interrupted yet again by our obnoxious guest. I heard Gimli's laughter, followed by his heavy panting and the jingle of his mail. At least this time he was mostly clad. "Have you seen the latest, laddie?" he asked me breathlessly.

"What now?" Tauriel snatched the _River Running Tattler _from his hands. Immediately she collapsed, dissolving into a fit of uncontrollable laughter on the floor.

This couldn't bode well.

"What is it this time?" I groaned as Gimli's crooked grin grew even wider over his bristling beard.

Tauriel straightened the crumpled paper with shaking hands, still hiccoughing.

**Newly Single Prince Legolas left looking for love—could old Co-Star Arwen be secretly dating him?**

"_Uuuu!_ You've got to be kidding me!"


	2. Tropetown, Tropecainia

"So let me get this straight, supposedly I make a penis reference in a family film adapted from one of the most beloved children's books of all time?" Tauriel asked me for the uptenth time.

"Um, yes," I reassured her again. "You did. Or rather, she did. Or they did, whichever way you want to look at it…" I watched my friend carefully, having never before witnessed her in a state of such distress. I had no idea the outcomes of such a revelation, but remembered my own time post films with no nostalgic fondness.

"A _penis reference_," she enunciated, her eyebrows threatening to disappear into her hairline. "In a children's movie."

"Yes."

"So I—an immortal being and consummate professional representing my gender, species, ethnicity and my King—start sexualized banter with a prisoner?" she continued, left hand ashen around the hilt of her slowly twirling hunting knife.

"Heh," Gimli opined, his unhelpful presence as unwelcome as ever. "No, lass, that would be the dwarf."

"So I respond to said sexual harassment with _flirtation_?" she demanded coldly.

"Empowering women everywhere," I offered with what I hoped was enough sarcastic chagrin to lighten the tone.

"Oh, yes. Because we've all seen how well that's worked out for The Dark Knight and Twilight fandoms," she paced the room in a wolfish fashion. "One woman. One chance, and they blew it all on an innuendo my second line of dialogue?"

"Aye, lass," Gimli belched, wiping foaming ale from his beard with one coarse hand. "So it would seem."

"And then I proceed to purposefully seek out said dwarf after being told off my boss and love interest's father—"

"I'm so not your love interest," I groaned. "And I can't help it if my father's a bit…possessive?"

"—then I shamelessly and obiously flirt with him between bars, am overheard by my best friend/love interest, make my feelings so obvious an _orc prisoner can smell the sexual tension in the room_, get dismissed from an interrogation for unprofessional behavior, abandon my position as the youngest female minority to have ever achieved the rank of Captain of the King's Guard to chase after my would-be-lover all on the word of an untrustworthy prisoner who had every reason to antagonize me—"

"I actually hadn't thought about that," I confessed. "Confessions coerced under torture aren't exactly known for their consistency."

"—then with my country in a state of internal crisis I convince my best friend and heir to the throne to do the same in the name of fighting evil, and when finally confronted with the choice of fighting evil so as not to allow it to 'spread to other lands' or 'grow', I chose to sacrifice my career, my best friendship and _the entirety of Middle Earth_ for a man I met merely a day ago?" she brandishes the blade in a dangerous arc.

"Dwarf!" Gimli shouted from the table through a mouthful of lamb leg and grease.

"Fine! Dwarf!" Tauriel snapped in exasperation, flinging the dagger into the wall in a whistling whir. It clung, quivering, buried halfway up to the hilts.

"I'm with Tauriel on that one, Gimli," I finally said when I deemed it safe enough to continue. "For all intents and purposes Kili is four foot tall Aragorn."

"You mean four foot tall _Faramir_," Tauriel regarded in disgust. "Thorin does all the Elessaring in this movie."

"Okay, Kili is four foot tall Faramir with greasy long Aragorn hair and a scraggly beard," I stated.

"I don't care if he's four foot tall Aragorn, Faramir, or Tom 'hey-merry-dol' Bombadil," she scowled. "My point is that after all that hype about not being isolationist, about 'being part of this world', about not making selfish political decisions that will leave others vulnerable and despite knowing the absurdity and danger of one Elf trailing a pack of orcs on his or her own, I still chose my personal romantic feelings over saving the world or even accompanying my best friend to make sure he doesn't get killed?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, scuffing the floor with the toe of my left boot. "Thanks for that."

"What is this movie supposed to be teaching young girls!" she cried.

"Um…true love conquers all?" I offered timidly.

"Oh, fuck you, Legolas," Tauriel glowered. "Is there a single female trope that wasn't used in this movie? And did they have to put my name on _all _of them?"

"Um, austere bossy black lady?" I observed. "At least they didn't make you do that."

"No, no," she hissed, working the dagger out of the wall with no small unease. "I'm just the saucy, feisty, ethnic minority who repeatedly tells you what to do and who isn't good enough by your daddy's standards to marry you for reasons of race."'

"Oh, Eru," I observed, aghast. "_You're like black princess Leia with a bow! How did they even do that—?"_


	3. Legolas and Tauriel Browse Fanfiction

There are certain things a character just shouldn't do.

Getting online access from Eryn Lasgalen to read fanfiction was definitely one of them. But my father, our illustrious leader, had declared a ban on fanfiction that he considered degrading (unless, of course, it degraded dwarves, in which case it was free to be distributed), and had placed myself and my best friend in charge of the task force.

It was a late night, a full moon, and we'd settled down in our carved, underground flet with assorted snacks and enough of my father's strong wine and ale to knock out a Gimli. This chore always went quicker without a meddling dwarf underfoot, although my ears would be happier without the _snores_. I swear, my friend could wake Smaug from here, had the dragon still been King in Erebor.

"Look, here's another one!" Tauriel said, spying over my shoulder. "Oh, _this_ should be interesting…"

I snatched the laptop away from her, reading aloud with growing unease. "'A woman always runs into trouble in the real world, but what happens when she goes into another world she knows a lot about? (Don't know who to ship yet)'?" I closed my eyes in horror. "Clearly our definitions of 'interesting' are quite different…" I groaned. "_'Don't know who to ship yet?_' Who writes these things! With a summary limit of just three hundred characters, you'd think they'd be a bit more concise and well, informative."

"I just want to know where these Sues keep finding the damn portal into our world. What is this, fucking Narnia?" she stewed.

"Bolt the wardrobe shut," I shuddered. "I don't want any of them coming in here." I still had nightmares about the _Lord of the Rings_ fiasco. There was a limit to how many slash/torture/rape/child abuse/Legomance (Worst. Neologism. Ever.) fics one could read before becoming completely traumatized. If you don't believe me, just ask my therapist. I'm sure Lord Elrond would be happy to explain.

"Ohhh…" Tauriel grinned. "You mean like: 'After the war of the ring, a long forgotten enemy, Ungoliant, rises from sleep. Two sisters from our world manage to end up in Mirkwood, and they have a secret. How will the last evil be defeated? How will Legolas and Thranduil react to the sisters? Plot twists guaranteed... T for some sexual content in later chapters ! Romance/Humour/Adventure'?"

"Oh, Eru," I groaned. "It's begun…"

"Or what about: 'Felicity Johanson can't seem to remember what happened to her that landed her in the Mirkwood forest but in order for her to survive long enough to get the answers, she must join forces with Thranduil, Tauriel, and Legolas as they find dark times up ahead. It's easy until affections for Legolas become increasingly difficult to ignore. Legolas/OC'…" she read in a sing-song voice while doing a jig. "Could it be true love?"

"Please. For the love of Valar, take pity and just shoot me."

Her eyes crinkled. "What's wroooong, Legolas? Can't take a little OC romance?"

"I don't understand how this could happen. Again!" I slammed my head down on the table. "I'm like _fifteen years older_, with _eyeliner_ and _digital eye coloring_ that makes my pupils all ragged and weird. With all the Smauglock and Bagginshield and Fem! Bilbo Thorinduil and Fili/Kili incest nonsense how do these people STILL have a fetish for me?"

"And your father, apparently," she sniffed. "I'm sure if we look hard enough we'll find an incestuous threesome…"

I moaned. Cradled my head in my hands. "Excuse me, I need to vomit."

"With sisters," she continued with malevolent glee. "A foursome and it's _doubly incestuous._"

"If you keep this up, I WILL write my own fic about you and Kili," I warned her, glaring up through my fingers. "Or Thorin. Or both."

She grimaced, and waved her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay—point duly taken."

"Those were T. Here's a nice little M rating for you," I passed the laptop with no small degree of smugness.

"'Tauriel is confused by the dwarf that is currently in their prison and the feelings she has for him and for Legolas, the Prince she can never have. But as the dwarves makes their escape and she sees Kili hurt, she must save him. She knows that Legolas can never be hers, but what about the dwarf?'" She chortled, breathless. "Is that the best you can do? And to think I have an entire universe of Legolas torture porn fics now at my fingers…"

"Alright, alright, truce already!" I cried. Even Tauriel had no idea how deep my PTSD went, and I had every intention to keep it that way. I valued her friendship. I don't think I could stand her pity.

"I just…I mean, if people wanted to read graphically detailed sex charged torture fantasy with half-bred supernatural creatures, why don't they just read the Song of Ice and Fire series?" I mused. "Or write Danerys fanfiction? Why do they feel the need to rewrite pornography into our source material?"

"Don't ask me," she tutted angrily. "I'm not canon. I wouldn't know."

"Tauriel—" I hadn't meant to hurt her. I just forgot.

But my friend was certainly tougher than I. I don't know how she ever got misconstrued as the soft-hearted woman trope or hopeless romantic for _The Desolation of Smaug_. Her fingers flew across the keyboard and her lips turned up in a self-satisfied smirk. "Browsing 'Legolas and Bolg Laketown slash fiction'…"

"_Tauriel!_"


	4. Ain't No Party Like a Thranduil Party

My father is infamous for two things: strained interracial relations, and having a good time.

Ever since partaking in the Fellowship of the Ring as one of the nine walkers, our relationship has been what you might politely refer to as somewhat estranged on certain issues. My current fletmate situation hasn't helped.

And for as much as Haldir might refer to me as Legolas Thranduilion, I fear my reputation for my father's more impressive kingly abilities was grossly over exaggerated on film. On this particular morning, however, I was more afraid what and who I would find in my flet the morning following one of his more rather raucous gatherings. From the painful peals of mirth that greeted me upon stumbling from bed, and the clinging stench of pipeweed, it would appear my friends had come solely to laugh at my expense.

"Oh, look, little Leggy's awake!" Tauriel sang.

"Don't—" I groaned, staggering into the flet's small kitchen for my morning tea. Even with my eyes clenched shut, daggers of light shafts were piercing my head.

"Daddy have another kegger, did he?" her low chuckle came from somewhere to my left.

"Shut up," I stumbled into something metallic. Small. The stove?

I sniffed. Gagged. _Gimli._

"Well, well," his booming baritone voice grated in my ears like an axe stroke to the skull. "Here's a pretty wine-skin to wrap an Elvish princeling in!"

"Shut up," I groaned. "Shut up _shutupshutupshutup_…" I groped my way to the kettle, and found the hearth to be disappointingly cool.

"Why is there no tea?" I lamented, clutching my throbbing head.

"Tea?" Gimli shouted in protest as an arrow lodged itself through my eardrums. "You'll be needing something a wee bit stronger than that, laddie!"

I groaned. Sank to the floor.

"Because leaving you alone with an open fire pit last night would've contradicted the prime directive of my position as Captain of your father's Guard," Tauriel chided. "You're helpless after one goblet, bless."

"_You_ sat up all night with me?" I asked, squinting one eye open in surprise. A feat, I feel inclined to tell you, which I immediately regretted.

"Me?" she scoffed. "Some of us have a full time _job_, remember? No, your friend Gimli had the dubious pleasure of emptying your vomit-filled chamber pot on numerous occasions."

I would apologize, but after what he did to my chamber pot on a near daily basis I'd say he remained still greatly in my debt. "You're a lot less nurturing than your film counterpart," I managed to say thickly.

"That's because on screen I'm the feisty, overcompensating badass and a deliberate cocktease who finds her true fulfillment not in her own independence or professional skills but by abandoning them all for the wonderful, meaningful calling of domesticity."

I grimaced. "And here I thought it was just the whole 'true love at first sight' thing you disapproved of."

"Don't be naïve, Legolas. Clearly that's a healthy romantic ideal to foster, just like the notion that fighting is for boys, and nursing people back to health is for girls. Obviously," I heard her pacing across the stone floor in anger. "Tilda throws what, one plate? And Sigrid just screams until they both take refuge under the table. I mean, scrawny little Bain fights, arthritic old Oín fights, and rat-draggled Kili's septic, for Eru's sake, but he still manages to drag his sorry ass out of bed to stab an orc or two because _gender roles_."

I frowned and wracked my brain through a wine-induced haze. "It could be the wine, but I thought movie you pretty much killed in that scene," I reminded her.

"Oh, yes," Tauriel seethed. 'The one woman exception to the rule. And what do I do immediately afterwards? I feel a terrible conflict between my duties as the Captain of the Guard and my ovaries. Seriously. And once I've accepted my true calling, and the audience has seen me in the woman's role, I can no longer embrace the wanton recklessness of my past. The reaction shots to Smaug? Old woman whimpering. Tilda clutching her doll. And me? The capable female Captain of the Guard? I'm standing there _Looking. Worried_," I heard her teeth grinding. "They use us women as emotional fodder for the audience, and nothing more. For the rest of the movie I'm Miss Manipulative, always have a plan and a goading comeback up my sleeve, but when it comes to my boyfriend dying I can't even remember to bring my own fucking athelas let alone muster the neurons to alert the authorities to row him and as many others to safety. Ovaries one, brain zero."

I was hung over. And tired. And it was still way too early in the…afternoon? to be discussing tropes, however pressing. "At least they didn't show _you _failing to kill Bolg with essentially Excalibur when you had quiver full of arrows and your bow just slung over your back," I groaned, laying my head gently against the tapestry paneling. "So. Effing. Stupid."

"Bless, Gimli. He must be grumpy," she said in the honeyed tones one would use for a small Elfling as her fingers pinched my cheeks. "He almost swore."

I batted her hands away. "Shut up."

"_Aaand _he dropped the Bolg bomb," she continued. "Shall we tell him?"

He heaved a sigh, accompanied by the incessant jingle of chain mail, echoing longer than a stonefall in Khazad-dûm."We might as well get it over with, lass."

I rubbed my aching temples between my fingertips. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" I asked them blearily.

I heard Tauriel's chortle, and could imagine an identically smug grin. "Oh, regret doesn't even begin to cover it, mellon." A warm mug was placed carefully in my hands. "Drink up."

"This tea?" I said groggily, braving the light again to catch a glimpse of the dark, steaming liquid.

"Something 'a wee bit stronger'," she assured me with a wink.

"Ai, ERU!" I coughed as the burning liquid hit my throat and my headache cleared as the fire of a thousand balrogs scorched my insides. "What is this?"

"Old Dwarvish hangover remedy," Tauriel shrugged as I sputtered and hacked. "According to Gimli. My money's still on dwarf piss."

Water. Lembas. Athelas. _Something!_ "Call Elessar," I moaned, clutching at my chest and stomach. "I think I'm dying."

"Don't worry your pointy-eared head, laddie," Gimli slapped me on the back. "I've brought you a proper Elvish healer, right here."

"I would shave off your beard, Dwarf, if you stood but a little higher from the ground," Tauriel scowled.

"That's the part where you're supposed to say 'you would die before your stroke fell', laddie," he prodded me with his armored elbow.

"That was before you poisoned me," I glared at him, my eyes still tearing. "As my bodyguard, if she wants to shave you, I say go ahead."

"Now don't be hasty!" he exclaimed, taking a step back with his hands waving in peace.

"Don't go pretending you're Treebeard again, or you'll be Nobeard." I will never forgive _The Two Towers_ movie for lending him an entire second arsenal of annoying quotations.

"Would that be yet another failed and feeble attempt at a joke, Legolas?" Tauriel asked, bemused.

"I'm tired. Hungover, and possibly dying of a dwarven overdose," I informed her. "I'm not proud of it."

The corners of her clever eyes and lips upturned oh-so-subtly. After six hundred years, I knew that expression could be the portent of nothing good. "Speaking of things you're not proud of, you should see the _Esgaroth Herald_ this morning. There's a lovely centerfold with you twerking on Bolg."

I spat tea across the stone floor and silk carpeting. "_WHAT-?!"_ I choked. "Give me that!" I tore the paper from her hands, eyes searching frantically.

**Unlucky in Love: Prince Legolas' Night on the Town after Abrupt Tauriel Break-Up**

_Sources close to the couple report the toxic troubles in the fallout from the Tauriel split after the Elf Captain was photographed openly holding hands with hot dwarven hunk, Kili. Friends say they are "concerned" for the Prince's judgment and safety after a late night liaison in Laketown. The orc in question has been identified as Bolg, son of Azog, who might just be doing some defiling of his own. Gimli son of Gloin, the Prince's long time lover, could not be reached for comment._

"That's a still from that thrice-cursed movie!" I cried, aghast. "This is…this…'might be doing some defiling of his own?'" I yelped. "That picture is _completely out of context_! And _fictional! And that orch is completely CGI'ed!_"

"He's got ice in his heart and a club in his hands and a vulnerable side he keeps well hidden," Tauriel purred, pulling the paper from my disbelieving hands. "This one's definitely going in the scrap book next to _Legolas by Laura_."

"Oh, Eru," I whimpered. "I need more wine."

"Are you certain that's a good idea, laddie?" Gimli asked, busying himself with making breakfast. If there was ever a chance to make a fire, my Dwarven friend was always on it.

"Nothing was ever wiser," I lamented as sausages began to crackle. "Has my father seen this?" I contemplated his reaction with no small amount of dread.

"Oh, King Thranduil has been quite busy this morning," she said with an air of amusement. "Apparently he's only just now discovered the Dwarf Racist Party Dad Tumblr, and won't have time for such petty issues like your most recent tabloid spread, however shameful."

I looked up at her ruefully. "I suppose I have you to thank for that."

She smiled. "That's what friends are for, mellon. Even swotty, stuck up, shit-faced Sindarin babies who can't take their liquor."

"You just don't want to talk to him about our supposed 'break up'," I returned.

"You just don't want to talk to him at all," she shot back.

"Alright," I conceded. "Point taken." Gimli often said I hid behind her as if she was my mother's skirts when it came to the issue of my father. It was one of those rare, refreshing topics of conversation on which we found ourselves agreeing completely, so naturally it became a frequent discussion.

"Seriously though, how bad was it?" I cringed, taking my place at the table where a plate of soft, glazed lembas and fruit waited as well as a pitcher of cold cream and—thank the Valar—my morning tea.

Tauriel perched on the table top, swinging her feet freely. "Are you sure you even want to know?"

"I have the terrible feeling that myself and most of Middle Earth are about to find out anyways," I nodded to the cursed tabloid set next to her.

"Well, you told the king exactly where he could put his dwarven prejudices," she said. "Called him out on his treatment of the Silvan minority and demanded that at least a half of the Eryn Lasgalen Council be replaced with Silvan counterparts for a more balanced perspective, as well as a nominative representative from both Erebor and Esgaroth."

I swallowed a sip of tea, letting it soothe my throat where Gimli's unnamed concoction had left it raw. "That doesn't sound too terrible."

"There's more," Tauriel warned. "The two of you had quite the row."

"I'm not about to get banished, am I?" I asked with chagrin.

"No, no. Daddy dearest demanded you leave the party, and…" here she paused, mouth still open and eyebrows raised, gauging my reaction so far.

"Go on," I prompted with mounting unease.

"—At which time you publicly professed your undying love for me. We eloped."

I aspirated a sip of tea and flaky lembas and required Gimli's assistance to breathe again in the form of what I would later be informed was called the Heimlich maneuver.

"I'm just fucking with you, Legolas," Tauriel said primly over the lip of her glass, but the façade of dignity didn't last long. "And apparently so is Gimli!" She fell sideways into a chair, splashing tea, then proceeded to laugh loud and long until tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Are you nearly finished?" I reprimanded her shameless outburst, shoving Gimli away. "And what in the name of Arda are you doing—!?"

"My Uncle Oín was a healer!" he grumped, clearly hurt. "I believe thanks are in order, you pompous Elvish Princeling!"

"The same dear old deaf Uncle Oín who dropped you on a your head as a baby?" I retorted, gathering myself dizzily to my feet.

"Aye, that's the one, laddie."

Tauriel was still howling merrily.

"Seriously?" I asked, wiping breakfast from my already partied clothes. "Are. You. Quite. Done. Yet."

"I had a couple of slash fanfic jokes," she hiccoughed. "You know, 'Prince Legolas Carrying Bolg's Baby' sort of mpreg headlines to throw at you, but I think I'm done now, yes."

"Bolg? You told me I was the father!" Gimli bellowed in mock outrage. And here we went again. I finished my breakfast in stewing silence, as they continued to embarrass themselves at my expense. Long after I'd finished Tauriel was still giggling nasally as Gimli slapped his great thighs.

"Would one of you, whenever you're done, please inform me as to what actually happened." I requested with all the politeness I could muster.

"Oh, mellon," she dabbed her still streaming eyes with her sleeve. "In truth, you went on at length about our restrictive immigration policy, declared your undying love for boating, did some thrilling interpretive dance and sang what appeared to be some original pieces about botany and bird-watching, of all things before proceeding to buy plot of land in Ithilien. From what Gimli tells me you later also smoked and planned a lovely little Valinor vacation for just the two of you," she grinned in summation. "Tongues will wag."

I flushed. I'd actually been giving the whole Valinor thing thought for a long time now. "For the last time Tauriel, if you—or anyone else out there is still listening—we're so not a couple."

"Yes, Legolas," she rolled her twinkling eyes impishly. "Because nothing says 'we're not gay' like building a ship together then sailing off into the sunset. No one really cares about Aragorn and Arwen, and the whole Farmir/Eowyn thing is a bit forced, if you ask me. It's time you faced it: you two are the fandom's favorite OTP."

"I get shipped with _everyone_," I reminded her. "It doesn't matter who else is in the boat, it's STILL someone's OTP."

"Could be worse, lad," Gimli opined somberly. "You could be paired with that beardless boy wonder Kili."

"Yeah," I poked her with one of the plaits of his bristling beard, "You're just jealous that my dwarf is an actual dwarf." We were then met with the typical complaints of 'mind the beard!' and 'nobody touches a dwarf!' and cajoled in the name of Durin's saggy left—well, you get the idea—to unhand him at once.

"I'm jealous?" she snickered. "Have you seen _The Desolation of Smaug_?"

"You mean that film that makes me into a surly, possessive, stalking, bitchy Aryan Edward Cullen?"

"That's the one."

"After repeatedly telling fans and the actors there wouldn't be a love triangle?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Legolas. _Obviously_ what Kili and I had was merely a 'cross-cultural curiosity'," she made snide air quotes to match her tone. "I don't know how any audience could have possibly _misconstrued _it as a romance given the constant love theme, awkward eye contact, and the dwarf explicitly stating his affections and your father beating us both over the head with yours."

"That was so painful," I grimaced, taking another sip of tea.

She grunted her affirmation through a bite of lembas. "And now somehow the fandom is under the impression that I'm responsible for your OOCness."

"That's dumb," I interjected. "It's lazy screenwriting, and the audience ought to know better. They could've still done the whole stupid love triangle thing without making me a jealous wreck."

"Or me a cocktease," she took a needlessly vehement bite of bread. "I started it, remember. 'He's tall, for a dwarf'. What the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

"I was already being creepy before that. And then that scene where I'm like, looming over the two of you like you were Bella Swan or something?" I shook my head. "The real fans would've still thrown a fit, but I think it would've gone down better if I was, I don't know, sad. Pining, you know? I mean, you got to be all poignantly happy about it, for at least a couple seconds before my dad trampled your hopes and dreams like he always does."

"Oh, yeah, because _that_ rounded out my character when it's followed immediately by my seeking out Kili again," she slammed her glass down. "They didn't even try to disguise it as coincidence, didn't even try to show the relationship happening over a long period of distrust and time. I'm the only round character, the only female, and with this proximity the only thing they did is make me look purposefully _shallow_," she concluded bitterly. "Can't have Legolas? Well, I guess I'll immediately go after the only other supernatural archer I know. Cross cultural understanding my ass, did you see the look they had me giving him right when the barrels were about to break free again? Not to mention the Laketown debacle. Florence Nightengale much?"

"Aye, lass. If it was a 'cross cultural' understanding they were after, you could've spoken to Balin. Or Bofur. Those two had many a tale to tell. Or Oín, my uncle. He was a healer, too, and you'd've at least had that in common—in the movie! In the movie!" he waved her off as she whetted her long knives with an eye to his beard.

"Gimli, that's…a really good point actually," I mused it over. "Why didn't they have you talk to them instead? If it wasn't a romance, I mean."

"Or both lads," Gimli shrugged, tucking the long tail of his beard into his thick belt for safe-keeping. "What's the point, I ask you, lass, in bringing up the only female dwarf with a name in the entire canon, only to never see her or mention her again? If you ask me, it would've been better had he flagged you down to ask about his brother."

"That actually would've been a good excuse to make me stop and engage in conversation with him," Tauriel thought it over with a brooding nod. "That's a surprisingly good point—for a Dwarf."

"So much for cross-cultural understanding," I took another swig of tea as Gimli chuckled. "I still don't like it, it's not canon—not that they're aren't some non-canon things I'm really appreciative of—" I glanced at her quickly before she could protest. "But they went about it the laziest way possible. I think some of the less die-hard fans might've even enjoyed the whole you and Kili thing, you know, if it hadn't been so obviously shoe-horned in there and didn't make you into 'black Princess Leia with a bow' and recycled all of Arwen's and Katniss' plot points," I admitted.

"You forgot the 'only good looking people are good' trope, and 'only good looking people fall in love' trope, " she tutted. "Good looks conquer all. I mean, true love and finding shared humanity across cultures."

"Don't let it get to you, Tauriel. The fandom blames you instead of the screenwriters and producers because it's easier to make one woman the target rather than address the culture that created her. And if they're too stupid to put the blame where it truly belongs they don't deserve you, anyways," I told my friend. "They can just go back to watching their stupid Mary Sues and supposed Strong Female Characters and rot."

That at least elicited a coy smile. "Oh, and I suppose you do?"

"Obviously," I affirmed, raising my mug to her. "I'm the good looking knight errant on a white horse. I've got a famous sword and a possessive, overprotective, misogynistic personality. As far as movie love interests go, I'm your ideal choice!"

"Which still leaves me the Elf in the refrigerator," she finished glumly, small chin in her hands.

"Nay, lass," Gimli spoke around the stem of his pipe, puffing pungent tobacco aroma throughout the flet. "Haven't you seen the movie yet? There's a dragon heading right for you. Make that the Elf in the incinerator."

"_Gimli—!_"


	5. That's Not Starlight You're Stepping In

On the advent of the discovery of the Dwarf Racist Party Dad Tumblr, one could say that my father the King, Thranduil (you _Hobbit _readers might know him better as the Elvenking) was not amoosed.

—_Amused!_ My father was not _amused!_

…Oh, Eru. I do believe that's a sign I needed a break.

I'd been at it for hours, combing the internet on my father's orders all in a vain attempt to 'cleanse it from this filth'. Never mind the Thorinduil slash fanfiction and the terrible Deviantart devoted to it, my father insisted his name and likeness be removed from any context wherein 'Dwarf Racist' and 'Party' were mentioned. He didn't find it kingly, and with our growing economic dependence on Erebor for trade, tourism, and taxes, we really couldn't afford a spat with the dwarves over something so petty.

I couldn't help but notice the references to failed fatherhood hadn't made it to his list.

My erstwhile companion, fletmate, and former Fellowship member had agreed in the spirit of "diplomacy" to assist me with the task. So far, Gimli's only contribution had been spilling ale on my keyboard and pointing out if you slowed down the _Desolation of Smaug _trailer, you could see Tauriel and myself both mouth 'oh fu—er, _fudge_' instead of 'our fight.' Once you've seen it, you can't unsee it. I should know—by this point, it had been looped onto my desktop by a conniving dwarf. At least this meme was silent. I'd only just gotten Mithrandir to debug the viral "They're Taking the Hobbits to Isengard" song not a moon past after what my fletmate claims to have been 'the vengeance of Sauron' got past my firewall. I've since added password protection on the administrator account, and surprisingly, 'Sauron' has had a hard time breaching it and I haven't heard from him since.

…_Naugrim._

I'd also been treated to an earful of ranting regarding the appropriation of Gimli's image for advertising purposes for a men's beauty product ("How undwarvenly! And it doesn't even condition the beard! And _your mother's axe_, you beardless orcspawn!") I'd also become the target of his ridiculous photoshop campaign, finding my face applied to _Cover Elf_ magazine and _Lasgalenpolitan_, and, to add horror to horrific sense of humor, cut and pasted onto the scantily clad bodies of Vanyar's Secret models.

To add insult to injury, the _Esgaroth Herald _and the _River Running Tattler_ had just arrived, claiming:

**Legolas Greenleaf and Tauriel of Mirkwood end their relationship after only 600 years**

**Tauriel Dating Erebor Billionaire**

**Prince Legolas 'still completely in love with love' after 'amicable separation'**

**Tauriel Who? Prince Spotted Getting Cozy with Old Fellowship Pal Arwen**

By the time Tauriel came home from work that night, I'd never been so glad to see my friend in all my life. "Where have you been?" I asked, helping haul her catch in through the flet's narrow doors.

"Dinner," she dropped a brace of geese in my hands, pulling off her gloves and placing her palms against her wind-swept cheeks. "Shopping," came her muffled reply as she shrugged out of her cape and hood. "And a haircut. Do you have any idea how ridiculous it is designing a character to fight with waist length hair? At least when they filmed Arwen showing up at Helm's Deep they had the sense to braid her damned plait," she flipped her newly shorn locks behind her shoulder and rubbed the red tips of her ears. "I took off at least five hands of this stuff and it's still atrocious! How much more of a fucking Mary Sue can they make me?"

It was never too early to discuss tropes for her. Misogyny, as she'd said repeatedly over the years, didn't sleep."You could always have anime eyes and be some sort of furry," I called from the pantry, twining the birds' feet. They'd make quite a lovely Christmas supper later, although to be honest I wasn't looking forward to the plucking.

"Not to mention the inevitable traveling animal companion," Gimli called from the couch, patiently clacking two knitting needles through what I feared might just be my Christmas present this year. I'm no expert in dwarven textiles, but it appeared at this phase in its nascent development to be a mustard yellow onesie.

She slid out of her snow and ice-encrusted boots and shuddered. "Point taken. But all I'm saying is they designed me to be working class, more reachable, more 'practical', but then they gave me this keratinous monstrosity!"

"They were probably trying to avoid the whole butching-up thing, you know, 'only lesbian Elves can join the military'," I explained.

"More likely it's because our little girls are manlier than your men," Gimli quipped, his left eye squinted through a jeweled monocle at the cabling pattern of my future pyjamas.

"I know, I know. Exaggerated tertiary sexual characteristics to distinguish me from the male androgyny. But _this hair?_" Tauriel insisted. "With this dress? I'm practically _Merida_. Not to mention you've got full scale armor covering your shoulders, chest and neck. Mine's just designed for embonpoint and leaves me completely exposed."

"Embonpoint?" I asked, unfamiliar with the term.

She leveled a stare at me, almost pityingly. "Titties, Legolas. Titties. That armored corset is about as functional as nipples on a breastplate."

I flushed as Gimli chuckled, puffing large clouds of smoke from his lips and pipe. "It's a palatable color combination," I said, wafting the smell and haze away from my face, desperate for both air and a change of conversation. "They go well together."

"You're really not helping dismiss the gay rumors, you know," she smirked as the corners of her twinkling eyes upturned. "And remember the part where the fandom threw a hissy fit that you were blonde when you don't have a drop of Vanyar blood in your veins?" she asked, her fingers finding and unlacing 'that corset' with expert ease and tossing it aside with equal parts finality and disdain. "Tolkien describes the Elves as dark-haired and grey-eyed, with Nerdanel's father and three of her sons being the only examples of red-haired Elves in the canon. So what are us Silvan Elves supposed to be, Maedhros' bastard children?"

"Hey, you might be a flamboyant ginger, but at least _your _eye color stays the same," I reminded her.

"At least _you_ can blame the continuity guy," she argued. "I'm just another damned trope. Did you know they purposefully made me ginger just so I could be 'our red-head' and bring 'that feminine energy'? Apparently no one minds the spunky female sidekick so long as there's a genetic reason for her sass."

"Someone actually said that?" I gaped.

"A screenwriter. A _female _screenwriter," she emphasized, removing the shopping from the scattered bags and hanging her new more practical armored attire in her spacious wardrobe. "Then they went and made the rest of the Silvan Elves ginger for continuity's sake despite the fact that Haldir and his brothers are portrayed as blonde!"

"Oh, Eru, I just now realized that," I hung a beautifully intricate scale jerkin next to silvery-shadowed haulberk made of smooth, supple leather. "I mean, can't they at least be _consistent _with their inconsistencies?"

"And Haldir's ears?" she pressed, adding a matching pauldron of tooled leather in a complex leaf design to her new collection.

"…the same size as mine," I groaned.

"Yep," she spun in the floor-length mirror, making faces at herself and admiring her newly braided coif. "So I'm all gingerfied because tropes and I have batshittingly insane ears because _yeah._"

"Rough day?" I asked as she cast herself onto the couch without a hint of her usual grace.

She pulled a fuzzy, olive green crocheted pillow (last year's gift from Gimli) over her face. "You have no idea."

"Yrch?" I broached the subject tentatively from the hearth, filling the empty kettle with water for tea. "Ungolianth? …Sues?"

"Sues," she called, kicking her feet in frustration. "So many damned Sues!"

"Well," I offered, "I know how that is."

"I seriously doubt it."

"Gimli and I both had to put up with all the Tenth Walker fanfics out there," I assured her as the water began to steam. "ValarSues, MaiarSues, Self-insert Sues, Half-Elven Sues, gender-bent! Sues. Trust me, we've seen it all."

"Speak for yourself, laddie," Gimli opined over that vomitous present-in-progress, still puffing his pipe. "It's either you and me slash or the fanon just ignores my existence."

"If I have to see one more damned genderbent Bilbo…" Tauriel bristled. "And why is it always Bella? Fucking _Twilight_."

"Probably from Belladonna Took," I soothed, pouring steaming water through the tea strainer. "His mother."

"All I'm saying is if you want to write Thorin smut, write your own damned character or stop being such a fucking homophobe and just pair him with male Bilbo," she huffed.

"Tauriel, you're speaking to a fandom that would rather see me pregnant than genderbent," I said hopelessly, placing a mug of freshly brewed green tea in her outstretched hand. "They'd report a reviewer for abuse if someone used the word fag, but they're perfectly accepting of homosexuality being used as a prop or gimmick for comic relief or heterosexual gratification. Their so-called yaoi is often used for shock value, and shown as grotesque or hilarious. If the social injustice and combined anatomical and genetic impossibilities of mpreg can't constrain them, I doubt common sense is going to have any effect."

"Sure, it's easy for you to be calm and rational about it because _you_ stay at home in your cozy flet all day—" she fumed.

I smiled down ruefully at my dwarven guest still clacking away and muttering in Khuzdul as he counted stitches. "You make it sound so easy."

"All you have to do is entertain the Erebor ambassador," she rolled her eyes, taking a tentative sip of tea. "I'm out there protecting the kingdom and dealing with this fanfiction fiasco."

"Ring. Mordor. Saving Middle Earth, remember?"

"Forget Sauron," she swallowing the last of the tea with a dainty gurgle. "It was the Sues you should've been after."

"It can't be all as bad as you say," I sat down across from her. "Even back in 2001 there was still a good fic or two with character development and actual plot in our fandom for every hundred or so that were rubbish."

"This is _ten years later_, Legolas," she set down her empty mug, the ceramic still steaming. "I'm dealing with a fandom that grew up on those thrice-blasted movies instead of the books, and sites like fanfiction. net are now widely accessible because dial up internet is a thing of the past. I mean, even The One Ring. Net has positive reviews of _The Desolation of Smaug_!"

"Oh, Eru," I nearly spilt my tea. "Does it really?"

"And believe me when I say you don't want to see the viral videos of two teenaged girls squeeing and splooshing themselves over the trailer."

"I've dealt with pre-teen audiences and their hormones before," I reminded her, although still keen to avoid said video at all costs. "For the most part they're lonely or excited and they just want to be part of something special—"

"And by ' something special' you mean they're hoping there's a position open on you or Thorin's staff—"

"Tauriel!" I yelped.

She sat up suddenly, throwing the crocheted pillow at me as I snatched my tea up out of harm's way. The carpet was woven white wool and quite intricate—I would hate to see it stained.

"Admit it, Legolas. They're using me or their damned OC's to get the action they can't. An entire world—an entire _universe!_—to explore and create in and their idea of storytelling and immersion is fucking reality TV."

"_I_ never get paired with an OC," Gimli harrumphed, frowning down into his broad lap overflowing with knitting. "I'm always stuck with Mr. Pointy-ear over there."

"Same here," Tauriel drawled. "Unless it's Kili. Or Thorin, surprisingly enough. Either way, I'm still in a love triangle that involves you and a dwarf. I mean, couldn't someone pair me with a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Where's the Tauriel/Aragorn or Tauriel/Bard fanfiction? Nope. I'm always stuck with my incredibly effeminate blonde best friend or a bearded hairy midget monstrosity."

I avoided spewing my tea on the rug solely by aspirating it. "You _want_ to be shipped with Aragorn or Bard?" I managed to cough.

"That's _beardless_ hairy midget monstrosity!"

"Absolutely not!" she scoffed, ignoring Gimli entirely. "But if I have to be shipped—and since I'm the only female character and purposefully invented for the sake of being a love interest I'm going to be—can they at least pair me with an attractive, interesting Jack Ryanesque type? Both Bard and Aragorn are excellent hunters and marksmen as well as savvy interventionalist politicians and military strategists. At least we'd have something interesting to talk about besides 'starlight' between our obligatory sessions of tantric boning."

"I'd like to be shipped with anyone," Gimli grumped.

We sat in awkward silence broken only by the steady, rhythmic clacking of knitting needles.

"What?" he demanded, casting stitches with vehemence. "For once I'd like to know what all the fuss is about!"

"It doesn't help that the movies are dwarf and ginger racist," Tauriel agreed. "Dwarves don't get romantic pairings unless they meet anachronistic standards of beauty, and I'm the sexualized red-head woman, while you're the shunned hypermasculine, apoplectic Violent Glaswegian ginger," she rolled her eyes. "Really, it's like they copy-pasted us both from a TV Tropes page."

"I'm not negating that most fanfiction is terrible," I rushed before this impromptu meeting of Gingers Anonymous could ignite into a full scale riot . "I'm just saying there's got to be some good fics out there that make some of the Sues worthwhile."

"Have you been online lately?" she sneered.

"I've been cleaning up my father's memes all day," I told her in exasperation. Swag Stag, Thrandizzle, various hashtags to Kesha lyrics... "What do you think?"

"Memes, schmemes," she grimaced playfully. "Fanfiction. net is where the really tropetastic fun is. Here, I'll show you—"

"Don't—!" I cried as she wrest the computer from my unwilling hands.

"Why, mellon?" her nose crinkled as her bright eyes squinted in mirth. "Do you have Galadriel foot porn on here again?"

I felt my face flush. "It wasn't pornography it was a movie still_ and I already told you, that was Gimli!_"

My erstwhile fletmate continued knitting, unabashed.

"Sure, sure…" her eyes registered the looped desktop. "Really?" she addressed our dwarven companion. "I expected so much better from you. The whole world of terrible Legolas/Tauriel fanart and you went for a simple f-bomb? Durin's beard just withered a bit."

I glanced over quickly, knowing by this time he was quite used to my teasing. I didn't know how he would react to her semi-blasphemous barb. But I needn't have worried. He ripped out a nauseating chemical attack in retaliation, sending us fleeing from the couch.

"Gimli!" I choked as my Dwarf friend chuckled.

"Now that's an aroma a Dwarf could market!"

"Yeah, if you advertise it as anti-Elf spray," I coughed as Tauriel clutched her nose and danced a disgusted jig on the spot.

"Anti-Elf…" he mused, adjusting his monocle and resuming his knitting. "Aye, laddie. I could sell that."

"Remember the time you were the strange, stoic member of our Fellowship rather than the brunt of all bodily function humor and comic relief?" I asked him, fanning my face. "Valar save me, I miss the canon."

"Nah," Gimli dropped the fabric to scratch himself quite inappropriately. "Too much singing, not enough ale, and besides, too much taking life far too seriously. Relax, laddie. Learn to live a little."

"You're. Not. Scottish," I groaned. "And my entire flet smells like cabbage. So I don't care what either of you say, I'm going out into the open air to see what the wind and sky are doing." I threw on my Lothlorien cloak. "You're more than welcome to stay and entertain the Erebor ambassador," I told Tauriel.

"Oh, holy Halls of Mandos no," she bundled herself back into her boots and heavy fur cloak still gagging, for once a witty comeback eluding her.

We ran out of the flet together, down the stone stairs and out through the underground halls and gate.

"Mmm," I sighed once we'd reached the midpoint of the bridge, breathing in the crisp, clean winter air without a trace of Dwarf stench. The moon was bright, and the frozen waters muttered underneath us. After a day closeted up in my flet with friend Gimli, it was paradise. "Much better."

"Yep," she agreed, tossing her newly shortened braid over her shoulder coyly. A knowing smile crept over her lips, and I was about to ask her when—

She dashed away. "He who smelt it dealt it!"

"_Tauriel—!_"


End file.
